


Free of Charge

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Gen, Pre Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the poisoning of His Holiness Alexander IV, things were rather mixed-up at the Vatican.  Cesare Borgia trust in his loyal manservant / assassin but the good Micheletto is only human.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Free of Charge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AntigravityDevice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AntigravityDevice/gifts).



Micheletto ran behind his master all night and good part of the day. Not that that was unusual, all of that was part of the old mean job, but now his master was edgy because some rookie managed to poison the Pope. It was a shame they couldn't make the poisoner survive, it might be interesting, for professional purposes only, to know how the monk had managed to pass and consume the poison without it's ill effects took their toll so early.

What a setback for his master’s plans!

On the other hand, it was good fishing in troubled waters for Micheletto. Every step on these first hours after the attempt there was a lot of spying and a lot of fine rearranging, to put it mildly. At least the dreaded prospect of made a soldier out of an assassin was put off until further notice, and half a loaf is better than none. 

Those were the thoughts that cruised Micheletto's mind while he followed his master through the gallery over the great hall. Cesare Borgia was tense and less prone to be amicable, but Micheletto's job was being there to endure the hardships. He would like to think his job was to be a trouble solver for people with more vital concerns. Cesare stopped by a column and he looked at a group of red dresses on the hall, his manservant couldn't peer so well, but that was not a matter, if there was something that could fall in his sphere of competence, in all likelihood, his master will point to it to see it done.

“Micheletto!” Cesare called out, the tone of his voice announced that he had something urgent.

“My lord?” Micheletto said and approached a little.

One of the disadvantages of the lack of sleep was that Micheletto get distracted easily, and he noticed the lack of sleep as soon as he realized how his master smelled. A nice smell of clean clothes, perfume and male sweat. He forced his mind to pay attention to the situation. One man was not like the others, in fact, that man was dressed like a gentleman and not as a Cardinal, so it stood out like a sore thumb. He didn't need to sleep well to understand his master's eyes took an earnest interest on that man.

“First time I saw that figure here.”

“Me too,” Micheletto confirmed, “a man who wants to get close to the church in these dark times, yes?”

“Or a spy who plans to drove a stiletto to our side now that our armor is chipped.”

For Micheletto it was nice to hear he was associated in some way with the Borgia, even if his master meant his family when he said “we”. Basking on that little detail would send his mind away if it wasn't because that man made something that attract his attention: he took some parchment from the hands of Cardinal Sforza under the big red sleeve. It was not a very subtle manoeuvre.

“Or the Sforza are planning something or someone is complotting with the Sforza.”

“By all means, they are having communication,” Micheletto agreed.

“I want that message, Micheletto,” Cesare expressed and turned around to see his assassin.

“You will have that message, my lord.”

Micheletto meant every word of that sentence, but his master's hand raising to his nape to draw their heads closer made him be extra committed on the task.

*****

The best-laid plans...

Micheletto didn't really meant to be distracted again, but that man took a long time to get out the building and that pretty spark of light at the twilight over the fence of the garden was not a torch nor a candle. He had to check up because while he was waiting his man, the light of his master's life, her little girl Lucrezia, passed the wrought-iron gate with Alfonso de Aragona by her side. So here he was, climbing the fence, a dagger through his teeth, ready to be sure there was not a trouble. Optimistically, the high grounds would be useful to track his man later. 

Sometimes, Micheletto got tired of being right. This was one of those times. A man was laid down on the fence, a place Micheletto himself would have chosen if he meant to harm Lady Lucrezia, his crossbow was good quality but the man who aimed it was taking too long to choose his target. To fall over him silently was child's play.

“Now,” Micheletto said, his hand on that amateur's chin, his other hand resting the blade at his throat, “that bolt was for whom?”

That man turned his head a little before answering with a nervous smile: “For him?”

“Wrong answer,” Micheletto knew it, those mercenaries hands without experience always tried to lie their way out. “You better give me a good one or I slice your throat right where you are. Who sent you?”

“Lady Caterina Sforza,” the man said, pale as if he was dead, because Micheletto knew how to untie the most stubborn tongues. “Please, don’t kill me.”

“Why should I, since you are being honest?” Micheletto placed the knife on the floor, away from that man. “Are you the only one?”

“There are another team at Lady Vanozza’s house,” the man confessed, letting his head hung a little. “A maid and a servant.”

“To kill?”

“To take as hostage.”

“When?”

“Tonight”

“Thank you.”

And then, without giving him any time to react, Micheletto placed the knee on the small of his back, his arms around his neck and proceeded to snap it effortlessly. Micheletto put the body away from view, he wouldn't like that Lady Lucrezia were startled by the sight of a corpse, and then he watched the gates, trying to figure out what to do next. Should he let go the messenger and go to warn Lady Vanozza? Should he return to his master and warn him about this impending threat?

The man got out from the palace, his hand was holding something against his chest. He was in a hurry. Micheletto rose, his mind was made.

First things first.

*****

To deal with the messenger was no challenge, Micheletto soon had the parchment on his possession and still had a little time to spend around Lady Vanozza's home. It was better to verify if the information was true before rendering his report to his master. He needed no introduction to enter the house, his face was well known by the staff, and he knew every person which serve his master's mother. A short revision would be enough to be sure no maid was new in her position, and therefore there was no need to worry; if the contrary was true he would have to run to inform his master quickly.

Of course, Micheletto never counted on human nature and how easily novice mercenaries were spooked. The maid saw him first and her reaction was to throw the bucket of water she was using to clean the floor over his head. The contents, not the container, just to be clear. At least that woman had the good sense of not scream from the top of her lungs, but, when she noticed that water was not going to stop Micheletto, she tried to run away.

It was a bad choice, Micheletto was less civil when his preys believed that they were faster than him and, now, he was extra fast because he was wet and positively sure that the parchment was getting lumpy inside his shirt. He took her from the neck when she was about to reach the kitchen door and his fingers tightened around her throat to avoid any unwanted screams for help. Micheletto was about to question her when a voice, the last one he wanted to hear at the moment, called his name at the other side of the door.

"My lady?" He tried to be courteous but to make a bow while controlling a struggling woman with one hand was quite a challenge. His main concern was to keep her concealed behind the door.

Apparently, luck decided to throw him a bone, because next to Lady Vanozza was Lady Giulia Farnese and both of them seemed rather put out, maybe they both of them were mourning in advance.

“Did something happen in the Vatican?”

“No, my lady,” Micheletto said and his eyes warned the maid that she better keep quiet because she was trying his patience. “My master wanted to know if you were safe and sound.”

“How nice of him,” she said, but his master's mother seemed not impressed by this supposed kindness. “What happened to you?”

“A little accident,” it was the only reply he could muster, because he needed his brain to improve the grip or he was going to lose his prey. “May I be of service?”

As soon as the words left his lips he knew he made a huge mistake, but he couldn't take them back.

“Only if you have news about His Holiness,” Vanozza replied, it seemed that she need to get rid of his presence.

“At your service.”

Vanozza barely acknowledged his courteous nod before sending him away with a careless movement of her wrist. Micheletto took a couple of steps back before approaching his face to that of the maid who, by now, was properly subdued.

“You and I will stroll about, yes?” Micheletto whispered almost to her ear, “and there will be no funny business.”

The maid emphatically denied with the head.

“Good. Then, there will be no killing, yes?”

The maid nodded with huge, glazed eyes, and Micheletto disregarded her fear.

Time was pressing.

*****

Of course the message was destroyed by the time it reached his master. What a blunder!

At least his master was taking the things with philosophy, Micheletto believed to heard some words like "at least they don't have it either" or something of that effect, and for a second, Micheletto allowed himself to drop his guard. In hindsight, that was a mistake.

A rookie mistake.

The push took him unaware and the back of his head bounced on the granite column of the balcony. _Ow_. His nape would be sore in the morning. _Focus on the matter at hand, Micheletto_... His lordship was spitting words through clenched teeth, a hand on Micheletto's collarbone, the point of his dagger was tickling Micheletto's chops. It was obvious he was not pleased of his manservant's performance.

“... can’t really do a thing right!” his master was saying, his tone was hinting murder, but his bloodthirsty eyes on Micheletto's eyes were turning Micheletto's knees into jelly. “I asked just!” the blade grazed the skin under the doublet, “one!” a sharp and quick flash of pain where the point bit the flesh, “simple thing!”, the edge touched the rib and stayed there. “And you managed to fucked it up beyond all repair!”

One wrong word and Micheletto could feel the blade in his insides, as sure as the sun rise every morning, but the simple drop of his blood running down on his side was almost as exciting as his overbearing master's body so close to his own body, which was relaxed, accepting, unable to put up resistance. _Focus, Micheletto_...

“Yes, my lord.” Micheletto said, holding his gaze, “I fucked it up”

“Beyond all repair,” Cesare Borgia insisted.

“Beyond all repair,” the reply came like an echo, drowning on those dark Spanish eyes.

“Give me a reason: Why shouldn’t I end your sorry life?”

“Because I have information, my lord, and a witness,” Micheletto whispered, as if he was surrendering to his profesional side against his will, “and I will hand them over, free of charge.”

Cesare Borgia's predatory smile was payment enough.


End file.
